


Petit Battment

by iniquiticity



Series: cygnus [3]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Subtly Nefarious Dynamics, vaguely porny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity
Summary: “What could I possibly be sulking about? Maybe the fact that I have no idea what costumes should look like. Or half my dancers can’t dance? Or I have one good teacher. Or we don’t have a venue.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I guess you don't have to read Pointe Work to make this make sense, although it would help. If that's not interesting to you: Washington is a ballet director putting on Swan Lake with all men. For This takes place before the other two bits in this verse.
> 
> For [@we-re-a-little-married](https://we-re-a-little-married.tumblr.com/) on tumblr as part of the Fight Back Fic Auction.
> 
> I can always be found at [iniquiticity](http://www.iniquiticity.tumblr.com) on tumblr, and [picklesnake](https://www.twitter.com/picklesnake) on twitter.

His office was quiet and dim, only his nearby table lamp lit. Most of the dancers were already gone, and he could sense the emptiness in his space on the back of his neck. Thinking about the day again made him want a cigarette, although he was pretty sure Gil had taken his last pack away from him, with his regular excuses about George’s health. He could take care of himself just fine, but even so it wasn’t all that bad for someone to always be fretting over him. He was fairly sure Gil had been giving him a hard time about cigarettes since the day they’d met. 

Another day where he was far from sure that this was going to work. Another day where he had to convince everyone else that he thought it was a good idea, that he knew they would be successful, that he had to make everyone believe by the force of his own will. It was exhausting to pretend, and worse watching his dancers fail to dance en pointe or seem unable to grasp the choreography or believe they were above whatever lesson Martha wanted to give them. 

But he had thrown his eggs into this basket, so there was nothing he could do other than force himself to believe in it. There was nothing he could do other than keep moving forward. He’d had one interview with the documentary guys that Henry Laurens had forced on him and was even less sure now he could carry on. They made such an effort to make themselves seem better than shit journalists but they asked all the same questions and prodded him in all the places he disliked being prodded. And to think they would be all over the production-- 

He opened the window and lit the cigarette. There was hot smoke in his throat and nicotine flooding his brain. Better. He stood, cigarette dangling from his lip, and looked at the costume designs he’d pinned to the wall. They were scrawled with him and Martha’s notes, and her ideas and possible changes and suggestions. No tutus, for sure, but how else to express the nature of the dance? How to make his Odette - Ben, who seemed the embodiment of the message he had to do this - seem delicate and beautiful and feminine and innocent? Not that Ben needed any help with that to him. But most people weren’t holding him and stroking his hair. How do match feathers and lace? And furthermore, how to twist him into sensual and sexy and devilish with Odile? 

And then there was the wizard. And the prince. And the corps de ballet. And the lighting. And he had some some venue interviews, but everyone had been skeptical so far, even if it was him, George Washington, offering you a huge discount. He had lighting and sound, but no makeup so far. He needed more ballet teachers - Martha couldn’t teach the whole corps to dance en pointe. More snacks. More pay for his people. An endless number of wants and needs and here he was, expected to pretend all these things would definitely and without question appear. It was his decision, of course, that the beginning of everything was embarrassing. 

He sat back down at his desk and put his cigarette out. He studied his desk, took in the plain ceramic mugs (his) and the brightly colored ones with the famous art on them (Gil’s). Gil was mad he drank coffee from a pod and ground him some from fresh beans. The Gilbert coffee was better but hell if he’d ever admit it. Martha had taken her thermos with her on her weekly night out with all the other women. 

There was a knock on the door which disturbed him from his wishing Martha would appear with one of her perfectly reasonable and thoughtful answers about why it wasn’t any use to get down on himself. He grunted a response. 

“It smells like sulking in here,” Gil said, and closed the door behind him. His boyfriend - and it seemed weird, even twelve years after they’d started doing the thing they were doing, to call him that, but it was what it was - studied the stuffy office and wrinkled his nose. “What could you possibly be sulking about?” 

George snorted a laugh. Gil grinned at him and frowned at the collection of empty mugs on the desk. “What could I possibly be sulking about? Maybe the fact that I have no idea what costumes should look like. Or half my dancers can’t dance? Or I have one good teacher. Or we don’t have a venue.” 

Gil drew his hand over his chin in contemplation, and then he meandered around the battered old desk and sat himself quite solidly sideways across George’s lap. “Those things will come,” he said, very assured, “And you know it. And everything will go amazingly. Even though those annoying little mites are crawling up under your skin.” He drew his fingers up George’s sleeves, then bent his head to kiss him on the forehead. 

He reached around and took Gil’s legs, putting one on the other side so he was more comfortably be straddled. The warmth was nice. Gil arched his back so they could make eye contact. “It is the talent of journalists to be so annoying.” 

“And they say they aren’t.” 

“Sure they aren’t.” 

Gil laughed and shook his head. “If you would like,” he began, and slid his hands under George’s shirt, I’ll make friends with them so they will always follow me around and believe me all the time. That way if they see something bad, I’ll make sure they don’t include it. And I’ll put them other places, when you don’t want them to be around.”

“Would you?” George asked, slotting his hands into their places on Gil’s waist where they always fit. 

“You know me,” Gil replied, and kissed him again, this time on the lips, “I despise any additional attention.” 

They both laughed at that. Gil’s lips were warm, and his tongue inquisitive. George had a weakness, which was that it was impossible to turn Gil down, and it was even harder with that eager mouth and the hands on his stomach. It was easy to forget financing and choreography and ballet shoes and outfits when Gil kissed him. Gill rolled his hips against George and he could feel the line of his cock in his ballet pants. Heat stirred in his stomach. He let his hands slide down the bottom of Gil’s spine, taking his firm ass in his hands. Gil groaned against him. 

“So,” Gil said, pulling away despite George’s lunge forward to reclaim his mouth, “Do you think Ben likes you? Us?” 

He tried to think. It was hard, when Gil had been kissing him like that and rubbing up against him and teasing him. But yes. Ben. Their new Odette, who was clearly made to be a ballet dancer. He bent to George’s hand like no one else, not even Gil. He thrived on praise and criticism just pushed him harder. He was beautiful and elegant and graceful and everything a ballerina should be. 

Then he had looked at George the right way. Come to George with barely asking. Those pretty eyes sliding shut as George manipulated his body in the choreography. The quickness of his breath. Ben had zero complaints about being held or touched co closely. He also had no complaints about being kissed or stroked or held down. In fact, George found, it seemed to relax him. And if Ben could use anything, it wa a little relaxing. 

Gil hadn’t minded, and Martha hadn’t minded, and Ben’s performance improved. It all worked out. The boy was almost too beautiful, too malleable, to everything, for George to believe he was real. No one found someone so wonderful by accident. Ben was the sign this was the right thing to do. 

“Well,” George said, “He’s either very good at pretending he does, or he does. As far as I’m concerned they’re about the same.” 

He was rewarded with a kiss. “He’s still practicing, you know. We did a bunch of the Prince/Odette stuff and now he’s working on some solo work. He really does not want to disappoint you.” 

“Him being nervous all the time is a little annoying.” 

“But it’s worth it.” 

“It’s worth it. There’s got to be annoying things about me.” 

“Like you smell like cigarettes and drink coffee out of a pod.” 

George snorted and gave the ass on his lap a squeeze. Gil laughed back at him and kissed him again. “But you’re basically the most amazing person I’ve ever met, so I’ll take those things along with how beautiful and wonderful you are,” the man purred, and honestly for all the things he liked about Ben, his new lead had a long way to go before he could match the trill in his spine George got when he thought about Gil, and how lucky he was to have Gil in his life. “Even the annoying things about you are wonderful. And that’s how Ben feels about you too, you know. It must be fate that he signed up for this.” 

“That’s how I feel,” George agreed, “How did you feel his practice went to today?” 

“Martha says he’s an en pointe natural,” Gil replied, and shifted himself on George’s lap so they could actually have a real conversation rather than necking like teenagers, even as much as George might’ve liked to do so. “And no one works as hard as he does. And he has this wonderful grace. He knows just how to hold his arms. I really do enjoy working with him. He just needs to seduce me with his gaze. The sexy seductress Odile is more challenging.” 

He nodded and let his hands rest in his own lap. “I wonder if there’s something we can do to help him more? How can we get him to embrace the seduction? To really steal you over?” 

They both startled at the door. Gil rearranged himself on his lap, so he was facing more forward. 

“Ben?” 

“Yes,” said the voice behind the door, muffled. 

“Come in.” 

It wasn’t like George required any additional verification that his words - and Lafayette's words, perhaps - could drive the man like a horsewhip. Ben looked exhausted. In one hand he held a mostly-drank jug-esque bottle of gatorade, the other holding a pair of ballet shoes stained red at the toe. His hair was sweat-stuck to his face forehead and his neck. His ballet clothes, black, clung to him. His bare feet were wrapped three times over, and the wraps went up his ankles too. 

George let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and clenched Gil's waist tighter at the sight. It was these kinds of visions that gave him confidence. With a man like this, all work ethic and inhumane beauty, how could they do anything else but succeed? How could a crowd not be taken in by those bright blue eyes and the beads of sweat that dripped down the plane of Ben's cheek? How could they not be hypnotized by the collarbones that slunk into the black athletic shirt? How could they not be utterly and completely riveted, like he was, at the sight of sweat-soaked black athletic clothes clinging to those powerful thighs? 

"Hi," Ben said, and leaned against the doorway. He took another gulp of his blue gatorade. "I just wanted to know if either of you had any other practicing you wanted." 

"We were just talking about you," Gil said, as George was still dumbstruck at the sight of his ballerina, hard-worked and slick, "I think we're all going to head home soon. You're doing really well." 

Ben smiled. Shy. George's heart skipped another beat, and finally he gathered himself back together and cleared his throat. "It's true, you know," he said, and gave Gil a tap. The man slid off him and leaned against the side of the desk. "I've never regretted for a moment giving you this role. Every time I see you you're pushing harder. I'm really grateful for you and all your hard work, and I want you to know that." 

Ben looked away. The blush would be impossible to see on his reddened cheeks, but George could imagine it fine. "Thanks. I just want to do my best for you - both of you. This is a big opportunity for me. I won't let you guys down." 

"I know you won't," George shifted in the chair, and then he beckoned Ben in, patting his lap.

"I'm pretty gross right now," Ben said, which was the truth. 

"It would be pretty stupid of me if I was only interested you if you weren't working hard," George said. Ben hesitated another moment, and then he walked over, put his gatorade on the desk, and settled himself a little uncomfortably on George's lap. This close he could smell the sweat, and sure he knew that he should have been grossed out, but he wasn't. What he wanted was to put his face into Ben's chest and inhale the smell of his effort and his skin. It was as pure as he could get to knowing just how much Ben wanted to succeed for him. "And by the way, I know you're not going to let me down."

"I don't know why you believe in me so much," Ben said. 

George reached around, found the tense muscles in Ben's neck, and gave them a squeeze. Ben responded with a ragged moan and loosened, falling more completely into George's lap. "What kind of reward can I give you for working so hard?" he asked, softly, "I want you to know how much I appreciate you." 

Another squeeze, and Ben ground himself back, like a habit. What a gift, George thought, amazed. What a gift and his, and his weird family was fine with it, and his gift was driven to be the best. Ben reached for George's other hand and put it on his crotch, and George stroked him through the tight material. 

"Gil," Ben managed, and Gil came closer, then allowed himself the deep kiss Ben gave him. 

"You work so hard, and I'm so proud of you, and I want you to know that," George murmured into Ben's ear, sliding his hands into Ben's brief and taking his cock in his hand more completely, "I would only give this to someone I cared so much about, who I thought was so wonderful, and I valued so much."


End file.
